


Please, Sir, May I Have Another

by eigengrau



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: BDSM, Caning, M/M, Masochism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-19
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-20 15:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eigengrau/pseuds/eigengrau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't until Newt is bent over the desk, papers and glass specimen jars strewn about like the debris of a hurricane, white-knuckling the hard stainless steel with his pants around his ankles, that he realizes the gravity of the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please, Sir, May I Have Another

It isn't until Newt is bent over the desk, papers and glass specimen jars strewn about like the debris of a hurricane, white-knuckling the hard stainless steel with his pants around his ankles, that he realizes the gravity of the situation.   
  
This sort of reaction is, admittedly, normal for him.   
  
Things always seem like a good idea at the time, and then- that second in college right before he had called his professor an idiot, the freeze-frame before telling his at-the-time girlfriend that  _yes_  the jeans did make her look kinda chubby, the moment before he plugged his brain into a lump of kaiju calimari- his brain will suddenly shout,  _WAIT, NO-_. But he never waits, and he always does whatever the ill-advised thing is anyway, and it's that kind of risk taking that simultaneously got him beat up a lot when he was in his teens and made him one of the world's leading kaiju specialists.  
  
It's also got him half naked, in an unlocked lab, with a man who combines the worst parts of English and German temperaments eyeing his ass appraisingly.  
  
Funny how that happens.  
  
Hermann clears his throat and taps his cane against the ground, the metal-on-concrete sound echoing tinnily in the room. Newt doesn't jump, and mentally pats himself on the back for that.   
  
The cold metal shaft of the cane presses lengthwise against the back of Newt's thighs, and then moves up. He shudders, and it presses harder, the rounded surface rolling experimentally over his flesh. They haven't even started yet, but he has to press his cheek against the cold desk to keep himself grounded.  
  
"Now," Hermann says, in that perfect proper schoolmaster voice, uptight and judgmental and definitely more arousing than it has the right to be, "Dr. Geiszler, you're going to spread your legs exactly three centimeters wider."  
  
Letting out a breath through his gritted teeth, Newt complies. He's half hard, and as the cane's presence suddenly vanishes, a twitch runs through him from the base of his neck all through his spine, and down to the tip of his cock. Je- _sus_. He's getting turned on so quickly, it's like he's back in high school. Except kinkier.  
  
The moan he lets out when the strike finally comes down on him is part pain, part release of anticipation. The hurt is sharp and hard, and he can feel his skin burn. He knows that there's a red welt raising itself on the pale skin of his ass. There's another smack, and another, the metal warming as it meets his flesh. Hermann hits him five times in rapid succession, not giving him a chance to catch his breath, let alone collect his thoughts.  
  
The pleasure that starts to mix in with the pain is similar, but not the same, to the fuzzy warm haze that wraps Newt's constantly whirring brain every time he's in the chair at a tattoo parlor. The muted sharpness of the artist's needle is good- very, very good- but this is a whole other ball game. His ass throbs with a dull ache that radiates up to his spine (oh God, he can't  _wait_  to stand in front of the mirror tomorrow morning and check out the bruises), and it stings like nothing else. He's salivating, and okay, no, that's embarrassing, he refuses to drool all over his desk, but then Hermann runs a firm but surprisingly gentle (and unsurprisingly bony) hand over the burning skin, and he lets out a groan, and- yep, the stainless steel is wet under his cheek, it's happening, whatever. He closes his eyes and pushes back into the hand with a whine.  
  
Hermann shushes him with a bare-palmed smack, and Newt's cock- fully, undeniably erect at this point- bobs with the impact. He bites back the sound that threatens to burst out of his mouth, which might have been the word, "Please," but also might have been the word, "Prick." Hermann sniffs disapprovingly. "Better," he says, stiff as always. With his eyes closed, Newt can almost imagine that he's back at his chalkboard instead of rubbing his thumb insistently against Newt's perineum. "Now, why exactly are we in this position?"

Newt hesitates, not sure if the question was rhetorical or not. He opens his eyes again and glances back over his shoulder at Hermann, who's watching him with one eyebrow cocked expectantly. His mouth has the same slightly froggy set that it always gets when he's annoyed, but his cheeks are just as flushed as Newt's are.  
  
"Because you're a control freak?" Newt ventures. He knows he's asking for it. That's the  _point_. His forehead knocks against the table as Hermann sighs and gives him another volley of strikes with the cane.  
  
"You,"  _smack_  "are,"  _smack_  "insufferable."  _smacksmacksmack_  "Again."  
  
"Because-  _ahhh_ \- because I'm awesome and you're just jealous."  
  
 _smacksmacksmacksmacksmack_. " _Newton_. Behave."  
  
His ass throbs in time with his cock. He's leaking a lot now, smeared against the intricate inking on his belly. Another smack hits him, harder than the last few, and he jerks with the force of it. All his breath leaves him in a gasp, and as he lies against the desk, painfully hard and floating in a miasma of pain and overwhelming arousal, gaping for air like a fish, he can hear Hermann panting quietly behind him. A hand plants itself in the middle of his back and he realizes foggily that Hermann is leaning on him, steadying his bad leg.  
  
He's too far gone to think up another obnoxious excuse. "Because I dropped a spleen on the ground by the blackboard," he groans. Hermann huffs in triumph and the hand leaves his back. The cane doesn't come back to rest against Newt's ass, but suddenly Hermann's voice is louder, closer, breath hot on the shell of his ear.  
  
"And what is the rule?"  
  
"No- fuck- no kaiju entrails on your side of the room,  _shit_!" Newt gasps as Hermann reaches from behind and wraps a hand around his length. He jerks Newt off quickly, efficiently, with the brisk determination with which he does everything. He comes, gasping, into Hermann's hot, long-fingered hand.  
  
"Good boy," says Hermann, pleased as punch, and Newt half-laughs half-groans, because Hermann is always happiest when things go his way.  
  
Newt's pretty happy too, to be honest.


End file.
